A Helping Hand
by MayFairy
Summary: After a heated argument with the Brigadier, Liz can't relax. The Doctor helps her out. Three/Liz smut.


**I would say I'm sorry about the title, but I'm really not.**

 **Now behold, smut.**

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The sound of shouting isn't unfamiliar to the Doctor's ears, around UNIT HQ. Or rather, shouting between two specific hot-headed people he happens to be rather fond of.

Well, fond might not always be the right word when it comes to the Brigadier, since it's usually more like infuriation. But sometimes, when the wind is fair and the military mind isn't being too idiotic, the Doctor has some warm feelings towards old Alistair, and that's nice.

And Liz is just… wonderful.

Wonderful even when she does as she is doing right this moment, barging into the lab, just a little ruffled, with a vexation that the Doctor recognises all too well.

" _That man_ ," she fumes, in an identical tone of voice that the Doctor has used to refer to the same person more than once, "is absolutely impossible."

"I quite agree," the Doctor replies. "What has he done today?"

"He had the audacity to try and tell me that I should-" Liz makes a noise of frustration, almost a scream. "You know, I don't even want to think about it anymore. What are you doing? Can I help?"

He's currently trying to work on the TARDIS console and fix it back up after the incident with it ending up in the rubbish tip about a week back. She won't understand the finer details, but she's brilliant enough for a human that she can understand some of the rest.

"Of course you can," he says, where he would normally hesitate. "Grab me that spanner, will you?"

He throws his jacket off and gets back to sitting on the floor underneath the panels, and she crouches beside him. For a while they work, only talking when necessary. After a while, the Doctor has to put a stop to it.

"Liz, you're not listening properly," he says, not quite chastising, but close to it.

She looks at him a little blankly. "Oh, I'm… I'm sorry." Her whole body is still tense, as tense as it had been when she had stormed in here. "I'm just still so… well, you know. He does it to you too."

"Indeed he does," the Doctor agrees. "You just have to breathe, and relax."

"I can't," she says, through gritted teeth.

"Can I help?"

"I doubt it." She casts her eyes away, jaw tense.

The Doctor sighs, and reaches out to put his hand on her knee in order to try and offer some sort of physical comfort. She glances at him, quickly, and it takes him a moment to realise why. Like a shot, he withdraws his hand, feeling rather guilty. He'd not even thought about it, not really, the bare skin there. He's seen it enough times before. How many miniskirts?

Liz stares at him unfathomably for a moment. Then she reaches out for his hand and brings it back to where it had been, or rather, a little higher up her leg.

The Doctor holds her gaze, trying to work it out. It feels like an invitation. If it is, he's not sure it's one he should accept. Even by human standards, really, he's too old for her. With his actual age taken into account, it's rather obscene. Although, in terms of relative age, he's not even properly middle-aged yet. So there is also that.

Liz's hand slides across his, stroking it just enough to make him swallow, hard. Her eyes are a little darker than usual.

"Perhaps you _can_ help me," she says quietly.

"Perhaps I can," he says. "If you're sure that's what you want-"

They are interrupted by sound of the door being thrown open, and the two of them jump apart and scramble to their feet. Sure enough, it is the Brigadier standing there, all pomposity and moustache.

"Doctor-"

"No," the Doctor says, scowling at him. "No, you don't get to aggravate Miss Shaw here to the extent that you have, and then come to make demands of me. I will see you later, Brigadier, when I feel like it, and not before."

The Brigadier looks at him with that outrage that is so common, like he can never imagine the Doctor would dare speak to him in such a way, even though by now he really should know better.

"I-"

"Out," the Doctor says firmly.

The Brigadier opens his mouth, shuts it again, and strides out, slamming the door shut behind him. In the wake of his arrival and departure, the Doctor lets out a deep breath.

Liz, still standing very close to him, curls her hand into his shirt.

"Doctor?" She asks, softly.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Thank you."

He looks down at her, all red hair, shining eyes, and that strong nose, and he smiles, touching her chin for a moment. "Well, I was hardly going to stand for him poking his nose around here after upsetting you so."

She smiles a little. It's ridiculous, really, because the Doctor knows that the Brigadier considers Liz to be a hard, hellish woman most of the time, despite also considering her to be in need of their protection, in the way so typical of males in this era. But Liz is soft, really, once you get to know her. Once you treat her with the due respect.

Liz uses her free hand to take his, and guides it down, down to where her miniskirt ends, so that his hand meets smooth, warm skin again. He watches her intently.

"Will you help me?" she asks. "Please?"

The Doctor regards her, takes in the way there's still that rigid tremble to her body and voice, takes in how steady her eyes are. How sure she seems.

"Of course I will," he tells her.

His hand slides up her inner thigh, underneath the dress, and she puts some of her weight back on the console and lets her legs fall apart a little wider.

The Doctor uses his other hand to cup Liz's face gently, pushing red curls out of her face with his thumb, as the fingers of his other hand wander higher, until they brush her underwear. Her breath hitches, and his eyes search her face, checking that it's alright. She smiles at him softly, nuzzling her face into one hand ever so slightly, while her hips press against the other hand in invitation.

How many times has he been distracted by those miniskirts, only to scold himself immediately for even the mildest of thoughts inspired by them? It had seemed wrong, to entertain even a mild interest in a young pretty human, when he is so much older and not even _that_ interested in sex anyway.

Sex, for Time Lords, is an optional pastime considered by some to be rather distasteful. Sex for humans, however, is rooted in their biology, and for almost all of them, it's legitimately beneficial for their mental and physical health.

So, he's just being a good friend to Liz by helping her with this, really.

He tries to tell himself, that, anyway. He knows it isn't that simple. Not when the way Liz bites her lip as his fingers slip inside her sends warmth through his body and makes him want to kiss her.

It's odd, probably, to wonder about whether it would be appropriate to kiss her when she's slick and hot around his fingers. But he can't help the thought.

"Doctor, please," Liz breathes.

His fingers move within her slowly, stroking and curling just slightly until she lets out a little whimper. The sound fuels that heat inside him, something about this woman determined to make him as warm as she is. He brushes a kiss across her forehead, and she smiles as her eyes fall shut, the tiniest laugh escaping her.

"Is this alright?" he asks as he keeps going.

"Yes," Liz says, "but more."

"More?"

"I'm not as breakable as I look, Doctor. I can handle more. A lot more, actually."

The Doctor regards her carefully, and she leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth. Her hips rock against his fingers, eager, and he smiles a little.

He pushes a third finger inside her, relishes her soft moan, and keeps his movements gentle to let her adjust, before making them faster, a bit harder.

She gasps ,and it's so _beautiful_ that the Doctor lets his thumb start circling her clit as well. She holds his gaze now, biting her lip again, and it's been a while since he felt any of _these_ kind of urges, but they're starting to rush in now.

Liz really is just beautiful. Especially like this. Flushed and eager and bucking against his hand and looking at him with those intelligent, dark eyes.

He lets his thumb brush her clit directly, soft but steady, and it's truly amazing what an effect it has. Almost immediately her breathing gets more ragged, and she presses her face into his shirt, next to where one of her hands is still fisted in the fabric.

"More, please," she gasps. "I need - need more, Doctor."

Who is he to argue?

With one hand cradling the back of her head where it's pressed into his chest, the other quickens its pace, fucking her harder. Harder and faster until her whole body is starting to shake against him.

"Yes," she whispers, and then she seems to lose the ability to form words completely, but it sounds like 'yes' and 'please' and 'more,' so he gives her that.

She's close, he can tell, but there's one thing he wants out of this. He wants to see her.

He gently pulls at her hair so that her head leans back, and he meets her eyes intently, finds them desperate and wanting.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, my dear?" he says to her quietly while his fingers keep fucking her, and genuine surprise flashes across her face, before it's overtaken by something else entirely, because she's coming hard around his fingers.

Seeing that loss of control in her eyes is truly incredible, and the Doctor is more than happy to stroke her hair when she again rests her head against his chest, riding out of the waves of pleasure while his thumb lazily keeps circling until her body stops shaking.

They are still. Silent. And, best of all, Liz's body is finally, finally relaxed. Soft and pliant against his. The Doctor feels an immensely satisfying sense of victory.

"Thank you," Liz whispers.

"It was my pleasure," he says as he withdraws his hand from between her legs and starts sucking his fingers clean. "Well, actually, I suppose it was _yours._ " She stares at him with faint disbelief before laughing and hitting his chest playfully.

"You're unbelievable, sometimes," she says.

Her gaze goes between them, where he's hard against her now, which is a new sensation for this body. It's a relief when her mouth curls at the corner.

"It doesn't have to just be mine," she says slowly, looking up at him from underneath those lashes.

The Doctor lifts his eyebrows. "No? I don't want you to feel any obligation, Liz. I don't tend to do this sort of thing, really, so you really don't need to think that you-"

"Do you want me to?" Liz asks.

"Well, that's not-"

"Doctor," she says, fixing him with a look. "It's a simple enough question."

"Well," he scratches his cheek, a little sheepishly. "I suppose, strictly speaking, yes, I do seem to want _you_ specifically, but really I-"

Liz cups him gently through his trousers, and he makes a rather undignified noise that makes her giggle helplessly. She kisses the underside of his jaw and he has to admit that it is all rather nice.

"I should probably warn you, it's, er, been a long time, I don't really know what my body likes," he tells her, and she just smooths her other hand over his chest.

"Then I suppose we'll have to be scientific about it," she says, grinning, "and experiment for optimal results."

It's difficult to argue with that.

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 **Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!**


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